The Broken Mirror
by DareDelvil
Summary: Post game. Everything goes pear shaped for overworked law enforcement officers Skeed and Vallye when they end up with a murder case on their hands. Latest: Chapter 04, Wednesday's Children, part 2 of 3
1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Title:** The Broken Mirror  
**Author:** DareDelvil  
**Disclaimer:** It ain't mine, guys; you know the score by now.  
**Rating:** PG-13 for swearing and character death. Yes, in the first chapter.  
**Spoilers:** Possible ending spoilers in this chapter, but nothing ground-breaking. Definite ending spoilers in later chapters.  
**Pairing:** None at all. Wow. There'll almost certainly be some pairings mentioned in passing during later chapters, though, and as ever with my work if you don't like slash you might want to tread carefully.  
**Words:** c.3,500  
**Summary:** Post-game.Understaffed, underpaid and overworked, dealing with more looters and petty criminals than you can shake a stick at in the remains of their once-proud city while desperately trying to preserve what remains of their dignity.Things can't possibly get any worse for the new Mintakan Law Enforcement Department - until they end up with a murder on their hands...  
**Author's Notes:** My first extended piece in a while, and I am determined to finish this one. Badger me. Please. This first chapter gave me a few problems about half way through, where I hit a large area of no dialogue and had to puzzle my way through some descriptive paragraphs – bear with me, everyone, I find this difficult sometimes.

**Dedication:** For Tori, Pumpkin, Lissi, Samus, Cyc, Katrini, Mugzie, Pixi, Doctor K, and my much beloved koneko-chan: all the wonderful people who've encouraged me thus far.

* * *

**The Broken Mirror**

**Chapter One – No Rest for the Wicked**

This is a story about things going wrong. Spectacularly wrong. It happens. That's life, people say with a shrug of their shoulders, all the while desperately hoping it isn't. You'll get over it. The universe doesn't always behave as people would like it to. Most of the time, a slight change of plans and a lot of perseverance will see the unlucky victim of the mishap through to their goal. This story is about the rest of the time, the possible disasters that don't bear thinking about, the kind of unadulterated catastrophes that would make any sane being pray to gods they've never cared about for the faintest hope of exemption. This is a story about what happens when things go so horribly pear-shaped that all one can do is search for a bigger fruit bowl and prepare to make a lot of pies.

Most of the people in this story have become very, very good at making pies.

The ragged young man haring down a side-street, for example, while he'd never even heard of a pear, was quite used to the flavour of ill luck. His rough cloth bag was testament to that, as were the contents he had pilfered from an unattended shop downtown. He'd have been hoping that the goods might bring a taste of something better, had he not been preoccupied with his attempts to outrun the woman behind him. She, on the other hand, knew exactly what a pear was. She'd even liked them as a child – as she skittered around a corner she remembered, incongruously, smirking into the rough, mottled skin of imported fruit and savouring every drop of liquid gold within, always keeping a shrewd eye upon the largest of the covetous many from across the schoolyard. Doubtless this miscreant would have been the sort to stand and watch her eat until he thought she was off her guard, then make a snatch for the fruit. There'd been a good few of those. She'd taken to carrying a rule (imported wood, of course) purely for the purpose of knuckle-rapping. The things we love are worth defending.

By the time her target had vanished without a trace into the ruined quarter of Mintaka, though, she was about ready to choke the universe on its bloody pear.

Defeated, Vallye returned to the Law Enforcement Department's main headquarters at a veritable snail's pace. The sun gleamed on gold and brass – she squinted and shielded her eyes from the glare – perhaps six o'clock in the evening, by her best guess. She hated summer. She hated pears. She hated a lot of things. After years of practice, hate was something she could do. It was only natural, therefore, to declare some form of the sentiment to the office at large as the door slammed behind her.

"I **hate** Mondays," she growled, well aware that the door could probably have done without slamming.

Her brother Skeed, his quill scratching over the umpteenth document of the day, did not look up from his work. He would have preferred that she hadn't slammed the door either – he was usually the one who ended up fixing it. "Today," he declared in his customary disinterested monotone, "is Tuesday."

Vallye didn't know what to say to that. She snorted dismissively in lieu of an answer before dropping into her chair, taking to glaring anywhere but at him.

"You lost another one."

The words had teeth. Icy teeth. She winced inwardly. "Yes."

A sigh from behind the desk – a surprisingly patient sigh, all things considered. Vallye risked a look. Skeed was regarding her quietly from behind half-moon spectacles. In glasses, and in patience, he gained years.

"Why didn't you take the team with you?" he asked.

"They were on the other side of the city. We split up to patrol. By the time I'd called everyone out for assistance he'd've given me the slip anyway." She reached for a scrap of paper and scrawled herself a note to look for the looter's file. "Little bastard. Should have put a plasma charge in his back when I got a clear shot."

"That's not justice, Vallye."

She gave him a withering look. "And yet, after going out there every day only to have them laugh in my face as they flout every law of this country in gleeful succession, I just can't seem to care."

Skeed looked heavenwards. "You can't shoot **every** looter you see, you know."

"**You** won't let me shoot **any** of them. And it'd damn sure get our message across if we **did** start using lethal force."

"Is that the message you want to give to Mira, then?"

Vallye paused. Damn. She'd almost forgotten about that. "…Wouldn't encourage the Duke to support us, would it?"

"Not so much, no."

"How's he been taking it all so far? The country's a mess – are we getting the sympathy vote, or is he just looking down his nose at us?"

Skeed took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Hard to say. We're doing what we can with virtually crap all; he respects us for that at least. We might yet have some luck with him if we play this well enough."

"And better him than Diadem."

"Oh, **so** much better." He set the glasses down on the desktop. "I know we're supposed to be leaving the old ways behind, and I know they've been all right to us so far, but the fact remains that we're essentially a civilised nation that's been conquered by savages. I've spent all this time looking down my nose at barbarians and now I'm expected to accept help from equals? It's past all bearing."

"And yet the barbarians have some of the best trained people for law enforcement purposes. We'll have to deal with them at some point."

"We shall indeed. But I'd rather rely on them as little as possible, despite the fact that we're essentially beggars at their feast."

Vallye glared at the world in general. "King Lahdidah is **never** going to let us forget this."

"Ladekahn. It's King Ladekahn."

She waved him off, adding the memo to the overflowing note spike and rising from her chair. "Whatever. It's six o'clock, and I'm going home. You'd better be back before your dinner gets cold."

"I'll do my best."

That earned him a glare from his sister as she stood at the door. "Seven thirty, Skeed. Sharp."

She heard him grumbling behind her as she left, letting the door close of its own accord. The poor thing had suffered enough.

The capital shimmered in the desert like a forgotten jewel left in the dust, its sharp corners rounded by the heat haze rather than by time or ill use. To distant observers, it still held all the glory of the Imperial years. Only upon closer inspection did the chips and cracks become apparent; only when walking through the streets could one begin to see the damage wrought by demon and human alike, or learn just how ill-gotten the old glory had been. As she made her weary way home, Vallye wasn't sure whether she was a metaphor for the city or vice versa, and found herself wondering if metaphors were allowed days off. Goodness knew she needed one.

Skeed still hadn't oiled the hinges on the front door. It protested loudly at being moved from its resting place. She'd probably end up doing it herself again – that was usually the way of things. She had a feeling Skeed was doing it on purpose, knowing that if he left things that annoyed her for long enough she'd do something about them. Bother him, the lazy sod.

Seven thirty came and went. She ate alone, quietly cursing her brother's working habits and pretending not to worry. Today was the same as any other day. He came home late, but he always came home. Today would be the same. Had to be. Life was dull, but she didn't want excitement **that** badly.

She caught herself flinching at the howl of gunfire out in the city.

The clock had just chimed eleven when the front door's rough squeak announced his arrival. Wisely, he avoided his sister's gaze as he dropped into his armchair.

"Three and a half hours, Skeed."

He did not respond.

"Three and a half hours I've been waiting on you, wondering whether someone's put a plasma charge in your back. Your dinner's cold."

Still no answer. He was staring at the opposite wall.

"Aren't you going to eat something?"

"Not hungry."

An exasperated sigh. "You hardly ate at breakfast either. And I **know** you didn't stop for lunch."

"I'm not hungry, Vallye."

Vallye closed her eyes. "Skeed, you're **never** hungry. It's not doing you any good, not eating."

"I've gone from two to three hours at a desk each day all the way up to eight or nine hours," he said flatly. "I don't need to eat as much any more."

"And that's not doing you any good either!"

"Someone has to do it."

"Not **all** of it!"

He turned to look at her. "Then who else would you trust with it?"

"…" She didn't have an answer for that one, either.

"QED."

"Oh, shut up…"

He sighed, returning his gaze to the wallpaper. "Go to bed, Vallye. I'll eat something in a bit. Promise."

"You'd better."

She left him to his staring, increasingly dissatisfied with normality now that he was home safe. He might at least have brought a fight home, called one rebellious thought: that would have cut through the boredom **most** effectively. She kicked it firmly out of the way as she ascended the stairs to the attic and the wide, airy room she called her own. A flick of the switch at the door, and the lamps suspended from the highest point of the ceiling flared into life. Between the two of them they bathed the sloping roof and dark wooden furnishings in a soft, fire-like glow. It was dark outside, or as dark as Mintaka ever became. A few bold stars twinkled in the night sky, their more cautious brethren outshone by the street-lanterns reflecting off gold and brass. Deceptively warm colours, Vallye considered, for such cold surfaces. Desert nights were as unkind in their chill as the days in their blistering heat. She pulled the nearest window shut – the tall sash was letting in far too much cold air, and it was hardly fresh enough to do her much good in any case.

Lingering for a moment, resting her hand on the low, broad arch above her head where the window had been set into the roof, she watched one of the tall lanterns flicker, gutter and die.

Searching for anger, frustration, even mild irritation at the continuing disappointments of the world, she found none. In its place there was only a strange, quiet sadness mixed with something that might have been hopelessness. Or perhaps the better word was lassitude. She strongly suspected that she was worked too deeply into this rut for any escape attempt to be fruitful. She'd have to grow wings and fly, and even if she'd been born with the necessary accoutrements she'd have lost them, just like everyone else, when the Ocean came. Besides, the rut was so indistinguishable from her life that she wasn't sure she'd know how to exist without it. She was a fancy rat, bred to race. Her gilded cage was safe and comfortable. What worthwhile thing could she find on a river bank?

Life, said that same rebellious thought before she silenced it with a swipe of her hand. Her fingers caught the window latch. She swore under her breath and tucked the bruised fingertips into her mouth before she could curb the reaction.

Remembering that no one was around to see, she left them there.

Five and twenty past eleven found her curled into the tangled sheets, just on the verge of sleep. She hadn't bothered with the shower, though it was only a floor away. The kind of dirty she felt didn't budge under soap and icy water. Her mind wandered back to the events of the day, and the image of a young man with his bag of loot flashed across her mind. He was laughing, vanishing into the distance as she looked helplessly on. Some credit to the new Mintaka she was turning out to be. It wasn't like her to think it, but she probably deserved every one of Skeed's accusing looks and disappointed sighs. Sobering, that. Not that she needed sobering.

Skies damn it, she needed **sleep**…

That same scene played through her mind again – chasing the miscreant through back alleys full of jutting pipes and clouds of tasteless white water vapour. This time, though, she didn't waste time trying to run him down. She drew out her rifle and fired a plasma charge towards his retreating back just as he turned the corner. It missed. Rather than taking him down, it ripped through the neck of the rough cloth sack in his hand. The contents of the bag scattered across the floor. Startled, but knowing better than to try taking the stolen goods back, the young man fled. Vallye watched him go with an air of chill apathy. Perhaps he'd know better next time.

She hunkered down and gathered the mottled brownish fruits back into the remains of the bag. One, two, three, four – wait, she was sure there'd been five pears. One for Mother, one for Father, one for Skeed (though since he didn't like them it usually ended up being Almarde's instead), one for Lyude and one for herself. She counted again. No, definitely only four pears. Where was that fifth one? The little bugger had probably eaten it before she'd found him –

Something tapped sharply against the smooth flagstones at the other end of the alley – a cane? It was too dark to see clearly at this distance – the street-lanterns were dying in their dozens tonight. The stars were out in force, scattering the sky like so many lost diamonds, and what little light they provided was barely enough to sketch the outline of the approaching figure. Vallye could just make out a top hat, dusky charcoal on the purple-blue-black of the witching hour, and the cane that was striking the flagstones with a bold, rhythmic precision. Shadows slid over its bearer like so much silk – as they fell away, the silver top of the cane showed far enough from beneath a small, pale hand for a star's reflection to twinkle upon its polished surface.

Slap of one skin against another. The stranger was tossing the fifth pear in its free hand. **Her** free hand, Vallye observed with interest, noting the curves in the cut of the waistcoat and the manner of movement affected by booted feet and stocking-clad legs.

By now, the lower part of the face was visible beneath the wide-brimmed hat. Painted lips formed a delicate half-smile – chillingly flawless, naggingly familiar – and then a word. A name.

Her name.

"Vallye!"

A man's voice, somehow perfectly synchronised with the movement of her mouth –

"Oh, for goodness **sake**, Vallye, **wake up**!"

Skeed?

She opened her eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of her brother in his pyjamas. He had been about to shake her awake, so it seemed, and his face was a mask of urgency. "Finally – come on, we have to go to the Fortress at once – "

A glance at the clock. Zero two colon zero seven. "Skeed, it's two in the bloody **morning**."

"I know – come **on**!"

He'd snapped. All the work had finally become too much for him. Vallye regarded him through half-closed eyes without a trace of patience. "Er, Skeed? Three hours sleep? Piss off?"

Skeed seemed about to tear his hair out. "Oh, for the love of – this is **important**!"

"Two in the morning after three hours sleep important?" She rolled over. "Get out."

"Duke Calbren's been shot. He's dead."

**That** woke her up. "WHAT?"

Satisfied that he had convinced her to move, Skeed bolted for the door. "Come on – we have to get over to the Fortress!"

Vallye fairly fell out of bed and scrambled after him, snatching her dressing gown from behind the door as she fled the room. Here was that excitement, muttered the little voice, receiving a swift kick for its trouble as Vallye leaped down the last few stairs. Skeed was already out of the door and running by the time she hit the ground, having caught up the keys for the little inland skycraft with his trailing hand – all the more reason to catch him. Vallye dived outside, locking the door with a practiced dance of fingers over the keypad, and followed him to the boathouse.

"Left or right?"

She shut the door behind her. "What?"

"The key – start the engine, left or right?"

A gesture towards the boat doors. "Out. I'll do it. Doors."

He jumped out as she hopped in. It was left. Skeed hauled the boat doors open to let her pass, swinging himself back into the little craft as she pulled away.

"I can't believe you," Vallye snarled. "I thought that place was supposed to be secure!"

"I **thought** it **was**," Skeed muttered crossly.

"Clearly you were mistaken, and a fine time you chose for it, too!"

"Oh, so you're allowed to make mistakes and I'm not? Is that it?"

"This is **beyond** a mistake! He's the Duke of bloody Mira, skiesdammit, and what's more, you're the Head of our House! You go down, we **all** go down!"

Skeed glowered at her. "Vallye, there's only two of us **left**," he snapped. "And you're quite capable of producing some truly shocking cock-ups all by yourself. One man. Just one man. You've lost more to a 'mistake' in your time. Now either shut up and drive, or let me do it."

"Let you drive?" she scoffed, leaning on the accelerator and spinning the wheel hard to the right. "After what you did to my last skycraft? The hell I'm letting you drive!"

The craft scudded towards the Fortress in the manner of a very determined cloud. Thankfully the guard at the gate recognised the pair of occupants before it was too late to admit them: Vallye would not have taken well to any further delays.

"Commander? Oh, thank God you're here – "

A flustered-looking deputy scurried up to the boat as Vallye turned off the engine, almost collapsing in front of Skeed when the siblings disembarked. His glasses were falling off his nose. "It's a shambles, sir," he panted. "Shot in the back, just one shot, killed him instantly from what we can tell – holding the three who tipped us off just in case, they're in the holding cells on level four – no alerts from outside, no one inside heard gunfire, nothing…"

Skeed cut him off. "Where is he?"

"In his doorway – the three troublemakers I mentioned said he fell on them when they opened the door…"

"Which floor?" Vallye demanded, pushing past Skeed.

The young man pointed. "Level three. Take the stairs."

So she did. Skeed was not far behind her. They managed to climb the rear stairs without touching most of the steps.

When they reached the third floor corridor, Vallye stopped dead in her tracks.

"…**Skies**…"

Duke Calbren of Mira lay sprawled across the passageway, an air of unbreakable stillness surrounding him despite the movement of Skeed's fellow investigators nearby. Even at this distance, she somehow felt it – the Duke was dead, quite dead. That much she had expected.

What had given her pause was the top hat that had fallen to the polished floor by his head, and the soft glimmer of moonlight upon the silver-topped cane in his hand.

"You poor bastard," Skeed murmured under his breath, approaching the body and kneeling to examine it. Him, until not so long ago. "You poor, poor bastard."

Vallye followed, shaken from yet another reverie by her brother's voice, struggling to remember what day it was. The scene of the murder was not so much horrific as it was pitiable – suddenly, lying dead, the Duke looked every moment of his sixty-two years and more. Perhaps it had been time for the old man to go, but…no, not like this. It shouldn't have ended this way for him. Not kind, steady, peaceful Duke Calbren. She'd almost **liked** him.

And to think that only eight hours ago she had been longing for something to happen. Life has a funny way of going from the sublime to the ridiculous. Not that Vallye was laughing.

Gazing down at the pale face, knowing it would never again be graced with that gentle, dimpling smile, Vallye said just three words.

"…I **hate** Thursdays."

* * *

_To be continued in Chapter Two – Candyman, Candyman…_

Reviews/concrit/suggestions are, as always, love.


	2. Candyman, Candyman

**Title:** The Broken Mirror  
**Author:** DareDelvil  
**Disclaimer:** Nope, still not mine.  
**Rating:** PG-13 for swearing. And Calbren's still dead.  
**Spoilers:** Ending! If you haven't finished the game, DON'T READ IT!  
**Pairing:** Still none in this chapter.  
**Words:** c. 2,400  
**Summary:** Post-game. Skeed and Vallye go over their findings from the crime scene, and discuss their next move. Vallye figures out what day it is.  
**Author's Notes:** This chapter's taken longer than I would have liked, partly due to a gift piece I still haven't finished but mostly due to stress and coursework. However, here it is now: shorter than the last, I'm afraid, and full of more dialogue than anyone can sensibly stomach at one sitting. Gah, I have to stop writing this kind of fic and get into the film industry. XD

**Dedication:** As Chapter One, with special thanks to Pumpkin for beta work. You're all wonderful.

* * *

**The Broken Mirror**

**Chapter Two – Candyman, Candyman**

It was Wednesday. Just. Tired but resolved, Vallye collected her findings from the scene of Duke Calbren's murder. Skeed had been right to wake her, much though she hated to admit it – this wasn't just a murder, it was an odd one. She'd never seen a wound like the one that had killed the Duke in her life before. He'd been shot, that much was clear, but by **what**? The widespread bruising and ruptured organs that would have indicated a sonic pulse were not present, and neither were the burns characteristic of a plasma wound. Two holes, entry and exit, but that was it. High-speed solid projectile. She was ashamed to admit to herself that her best guess was some sort of catapult. And even that did nothing to explain the shards of a broken looking-glass that were scattered liberally across the carpet – all along one side of the room, just behind a table covered in unfamiliar objects – it must have been standing there, she supposed. She recalled the Duke's people bringing the unframed mirror off the ship along with his other personal effects. Why the one on the dresser hadn't been good enough for him was beyond her.

"Aha."

She looked up from her examination of the splintered glass. Skeed was holding something in one gloved hand – ah, he'd managed to get the whatever-it-was out of the back of the door. "Success?"

"Hmm. Yes, of a sort."

He held out the object. Vallye peered at it. "…Oh. Is it…is that a bullet?"

"It is indeed," Skeed answered, examining it thoughtfully. "From some form of projectile weapon – explosive powder based system, almost certainly."

Vallye was baffled, and not just because she'd forgotten such firearms existed. Alfard had never used them. Sonic and plasma weapons had made them obsolete before they were ever developed. "What a bloody stupid way to kill someone."

"What makes you say that?"

"The simple fact that I could think of half a hundred better methods, Skeed. Can't you?"

"Must've used it for stealth," Skeed said. "Think about it – you fire off a sonic rifle and the whole neighbourhood knows about it."

"But plasma automatics make less sound than most projectile firearms anyway, and they're far easier to get hold of – just about every household had at least one in the last Imperial years. Why use one of these archaic constructs to kill someone when a plasma shot's virtually untraceable?"

"A plasma shot makes a flash, Vallye. That'd get you some attention, especially if it was dark. No flash from a projectile weapon like the one we're dealing with."

"…No flash? Seriously?"

"None."

"What about the explosive powder?"

"All contained within the chamber."

"Hm. Not bad for a barbarian contraption. But still, how the hell would anyone've managed to get close enough to take the shot? The whole place was guarded, or should have been – "

"Was," Skeed confirmed. "I checked up on that much. Everyone showed up for duty. The place was guarded. How **well** is another matter."

"Right, but there were people around the whole time. Surely **someone** would have seen or heard something." Wasn't that what they were **paid** to do?

"Maybe so, but when? The blood on the back of the door was dry, long dry – if those three idiots in the cells did it, they didn't do it just before we found them – but beyond that, we've no idea when the killing took place. From what I know so far, it could've been any time between about four o'clock when I left him and midnight."

He was right. Vallye sighed, rubbing her eyes with one hand. "Skies, this is going to be a bugger to follow up. We'll have to question all the guards for the whole evening."

"Added to which we know virtually nothing about the weapon itself," Skeed added, "so we can't know exactly how close the killer would've had to be in order to get in a shot. Two shots, for that matter."

"Two shots?"

"Two shots," Skeed repeated. "One to break the mirror, and a second to kill."

Ah, the mirror. "Definitely broken with a shot, then?"

"Mm-hm. See that dent in the wall?"

She saw it. "Of course – another bullet."

"Right. Better get that one out as well, come to it. Can you get past the glass?"

She took the forceps from his unresisting fingers and stood on tiptoes, resting one hand on the table to avoid having to step closer and tread on the glass. "So, two shots. Why not the Duke first? Why the mirror first?"

"If you can think of a good reason for shooting an unarmed mirror, let's hear it."

Pick, pick… "Got it. All right, fine." She dropped the bullet into the paper bag Skeed offered with his free hand. "So the mirror breaks before the Duke gets shot. He must've known what was happening. Why didn't he get down or flee?"

"…That, dear sister, is a damn good question, and one that requires answering fairly soon."

"Some background reading required, then?"

Skeed nodded. "On all counts. The significance of the mirror, the possible weapons, the man himself with particular reference to any potential enemies. I'll go through what I can for the firearms, but a lot of it was lost during the occupation. Never used a projectile rifle in my life."

"The daemon army didn't have much patience for paperwork of any sort, did they?"

"No, they didn't," Skeed answered, rising from the floor with the two wrapped bullets in hand, "and some days I wonder if they had the right idea."

The siblings left the building some minutes later, just before the Duke's body was carried out. Vallye was unusually quiet and subdued as they boarded the small craft, even when Skeed managed to catch his boot on the side and leave another small nick in the paintwork. She barely even rolled her eyes at him.

"…oh, shit. Bloody metal clodhoppers. Do I have wait for the storm to break, or can we get it over with now?"

She didn't rise to the bait.

"…Vallye, this isn't normal. We deal with murder cases every other week – what's troubling you about this one in particular?"

Slowly, starting the engine, she shook her head. "It's not that. It's…listen. About what I said…about the guards…"

Catching on, Skeed waved the rest of the sentence away. "Don't. You were right. The place should've been secure, but it wasn't. Duke Calbren's dead, on our soil. And part of the fault for that, at the very least, is mine. The best I can do now is to find out who did it, how, and why."

"And then shoot the bugger."

Skeed settled into the craft as Vallye pulled away. "With extreme prejudice, my dear Vallye," he said firmly. "With **extreme** prejudice."

Vallye decided to take them the long way home. She needed the air, and the time to talk. "We'll have to comb the base and check the duty rosters for opportunities," she began, thinking to sort through tomorrow – no, the rest of today – before it had a chance to beat her about the head.

"And question everyone who was in the area," Skeed added, not averse to this idea. "**Someone** must have heard the shot."

"That's what's bothering me the most," Vallye confessed, "though this whole situation is as baffling as all hells. Someone **should** have heard it, and I don't care how quiet you think this explosive weapon of yours is. I begin to wonder how many someones were paid not to, and how much."

Skeed snorted. "Tch. **I** begin to wonder how many someones wouldn't **need** paying."

"That too. If money's involved, it has to have come out of someone's pocket. Someone has to have a motive that isn't money."

"Which brings us to the question: who on earth would want to kill the Candyman?"

…oh, well, wasn't that cute. "They called him the Candyman."

"Yes – he was a chocolatier."

On any other night, Vallye might have thought she was still dreaming. She raised an eyebrow. "And not a Duke."

"Oh, he was the Duke all right. He just didn't like to be idle."

Another flight of fancy caught Vallye up. She could imagine Calbren standing amid a crowd of laughing children, handing out sweets and tender smiles. Silently she wondered whether she could have been one of them, in another place and time. Aloud, though, she said, "Good grief. Bloody barbarians don't even know how to be rich and carefree."

"Hm, exactly. But nonetheless he was a good Duke, not to mention a good man, and whoever's killed him could be bloody anywhere by now."

Vallye guided the craft higher to avoid a rooftop. "**Almost** anywhere. I've called out to the fringes to increase the border patrols – no one enters or leaves this country without our say-so."

"And if they try?"

"They get shot down. Whoever the killer may be, if they're reckless enough to kill the Duke of Mira then the time for talking is long, **long** past."

That got her an eyebrow, and a well-deserved one. "Innocents?"

"Should know better," Vallye said firmly, not without some satisfaction. "And if they don't, it's their own damn fault for not listening."

Skeed smirked. "Criminal stupidity. I like it."

"And about time too. The law's far too lenient, 'far as I see it."

"Mm. What about that bullet, though? It can't be a case of wading through books until we – excuse me, **I** – turn up something likely. Someone has to have the information closer to hand."

"Or brain."

"Exactly."

"But therein lies the problem," Vallye pointed out. "If someone **does** have that kind of information, as in 'why the hell would someone use a whateveritis to kill the Duke instead of a plasma rifle', then doesn't that put them…"

"…Right on to the list of suspects," Skeed finished, sinking further into the craft. "Bugger."

"Quite."

"We're not get'n any help on this one, th' way I see't," came the tired voice from around Vallye's waist-level, slightly muffled by the sides of the boat. "Not fr'm inside Alfard, anyhow."

"Everyone's a suspect."

"Mmf. 'Cept us."

"**If** we play our cards right."

"Might isn't gonna give us right much longer, is't? Not with th' gangs tryin' to get a foothold right n' left – "

"Oh, get up here where I can hear you, idiot."

" – fine – " Skeed scrambled out from under the dashboard. "They could very well decide to 'take over the investigation' and pin the blame on us."

Vallye nodded. "Right. The sooner we get some decent equipment and some trained recruits the better, but the council's too busy dithering over the poor little Azhani to worry about Mintaka. Hey, our infrastructure's still in one piece – so what if we have no police force to speak of and the gang wars are tearing the population apart?" She rolled her eyes. "Skies."

"But they get away with it because they're the only authority we have," Skeed carried on, "and they're protected by barbarians who don't know the first thing about running and policing a civilisation with a modern mentality."

The house was coming into view. Even the long way wasn't much of a trip. "By which you mean dishonest."

"Essentially, yes."

Vallye smiled mirthlessly. "Hm. Of course, the otherwise surprisingly helpful barbarians haven't a clue what's really happening, and those of us who **do** know – and know the first thing about how to fix it – haven't the manpower, or the skilled personnel, to enforce the law…which doesn't help matters."

It sounded dire. It was. Skeed chewed his lip, something he did increasingly when he was thinking about something difficult. "…I might be able to put up with some of Ladekahn's knights, you know," he said at length.

Vallye chuckled. "Mm-hm, I bet. If all the chivalry doesn't make you ill."

"Grarg, shaddup."

But at least he was smiling now. It didn't happen often these days. Vallye, watching her brother leap skilfully out of the craft to close the boathouse doors behind her, still remembered when he used to laugh. The boy who had hated pears and loved playing with model battleships was gone, long gone, but sometimes the man she now saw closing the sliding doors, now saw again as he flicked on the little light and approached her, could still be her brother. If you turned your head sideways and squinted.

"Well?" she prodded gently, once the engine was off and the boathouse was quiet. "Where do we start?"

Skeed mulled this over as his sister slipped out of the craft. At length, "Mm. Probably best for me to start with the possible witnesses, since A, they might forget things, and B, I want to oversee that personally. You're going to have other things to handle – we'll have to inform Mira post-haste, particularly his family. I'm not happy about sending word when we've made so little progress, but covering it up is only going to be counter-productive. Can't have the world thinking we're dishonest, despite the fact that most of us sadly are."

He still held doors open for her. It almost warranted a smile – would have done, if she hadn't been too busy mulling over his words as she stepped into the house. "…Does he **have** any surviving relatives?"

A moment of quiet. Skeed followed her inside. "…Just the one," he said.

The sentence was punctuated by the door slamming shut. Vallye hardly heard it. A sudden, sharp snatch of the dream had engulfed her – the pale hand, the snap of pear skin against flesh, the sugar-coated madness in the smirk as it crept out from beneath the brim of the top hat – **Calbren's** top hat –

"Just the …"

– and a vision of youthful perfection, were it not for the incongruence of colour: hair, eyes, skin, clothes, everything, all red and white, like fresh blood on marble; that same sweet lunacy lingering at the corner of the cherry-lipped mouth, four of eight perfect fingers clasped gently in her grandfather's hand – **Calbren's** hand –

"…one…"

– and the sound of a voice, a **woman's** voice, a madwoman's voice issuing from a girl-child's lips – "Kill them…kill them all, my darlings…show them the wrath of Malpercio!" –

"…oh, **no** – "

Skeed walked past her and into the kitchen. "Yes. That one."

Vallye closed her eyes, trying – and failing – to shake off the dread. **That** one. Melodia. The destroyer of cities, the temptress and traitoress, the mouthpiece of death, the horror in white. Melodia **Calbren**.

**Duchess** Melodia Calbren.

As if she hadn't been enough trouble **without** the title.

There was a faint _thud_ as Vallye's head found the wall.

"…Bugger."

"Something like that," Skeed said vaguely, dropping the stray pear on the table into the fruit bowl.

* * *

_To be continued in Chapter Three – The White Lady…_

Reviews/concrit/suggestions, please, clickity-click, it only takes a minute and it encourages me to write faster.


	3. The White Lady

**Title:** The Broken Mirror  
**Author:** DareDelvil  
**Disclaimer:** Belongs not to the Dare. Get it? Got it? Good.  
**Rating:** PG-13 for some pretty nasty swearwords. Yep, Calbren's still dead.  
**Spoilers:** Whole game spoilers here and there – DON'T READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T COMPLETELY FINISHED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
**Pairing:** Nope, still nothing.  
**Words:** c. 5,100  
**Summary:** Post-game. The new Duchess of Mira arrives, complete with unprecedented levels of foreign weirdness and some startling new evidence.  
**Author's Notes:** Another one that's been a long time coming, but it's a decent sized chapter so I'm hoping you'll all forgive me. It's almost as lengthy as both of the other chapters put together, so there you go. And it's not too chatty, though there is some extended dialogue in the second half. Go me. This one's been tough to write – I've been assailed by no less than three separate stumbling blocks, and had to rework some of my dialogue towards the end – but it's been fun, and I think the results are worth the work. …Here's hoping some of you agree with me. XD

**Dedication:** All those lovely people from Chapter One again, Pumpkin my proof-reader, and the reviewers from both chapters: Rebbe, Phoenixfire1389, sumizome karasu (hello kitten), Pumpkinchao (reviews as well, aren't I lucky) and Mugzie (hello again).

* * *

**The Broken Mirror**

**Chapter Three – The White Lady**

The morning sun in Alfard is unkind. It spawns kittens in every bedroom with an east-facing window, sending these little assailants to awake the sleeping occupants with their stifling warmth. Vallye, who was unlucky enough to have finally fallen asleep facing the window earlier that day, was no exception. Finally giving in to the patch of uncomfortable heat on her cheek, she opened her eyes to the needle-like claws of the sun-kitten and hissed her discomfort to the room at large. She clamped one hand over her eyes and turned away from the window, pulling the sheet up over her head with a growl of annoyance.

She'd have to get up soon.

Probably now, in fact, she realised, because the clock said nine forty-two and that was a note in Skeed's spidery handwriting beside it – why hadn't he woken her up? Struggling upright, she caught up the scrap of paper in fingers still numb with sleep and squinted at it.

_She's half way here already (06:47)_

He'd been up since a quarter to seven, the crazy sod…

– _you'll probably be needed out there by ten._

_Don't hang about, I don't want her angry._

– _S_

No, Vallye didn't want her angry either. Bad enough that they had to deal with her in the first place, but angry? No thanks. Melodia Calbren was infamous for her psychotic behaviour when angered, and according to hearsay the removal of Malpercio's influence had done nothing to subdue her temper. There were those who said that the taint of the wicked god still lingered in her blood. Vallye, recalling as she did the extent to which the dark magic had corrupted her own people, was not entirely disinclined to believe them. Still, better her dealing with this foreign duchess than Skeed. He didn't need any more stress and bother heaped onto his plate than was already there, especially with the amount of sleep he wasn't getting.

"Of course you're fine, you daft bugger," she muttered to the invisible presence of her absent brother, "at the moment. What happens when you crash, eh? Who'll have to take care of everything? And who'll blame herself for not making you sleep more?"

She stumbled out of her bedroom, towel in hand, still muttering irritably to herself, and headed for the shower on the floor below. Skeed had left his towel on the floor outside the door again. As an indicator to her state of early-morning apathy, she did not even flip it aside with her foot as she entered the room. It got in the way when she tried to close the door. She struggled with it for a few fruitless seconds before giving up and leaving the damn thing ajar. No one else was in the house, and she could not at that moment have imagined herself caring even if there had been. Skeed didn't see what was right in front of his nose half the time anyway.

The cool water seemed to brush the cares of the world away. Surprising, considering how convinced she'd been that a shower wouldn't cure anything. A faint smile found her as she let the water soak into her hair. This was one thing over which she intended to take her sweet time, foreign dignitaries and murder cases be damned. Besides, she was going to be late even if she rushed. Rubbing the soap between her hands, though, she caught her mind wandering towards the dream, and the figure with Calbren's hat and cane. It had been Melodia; she was certain of that much by now, but that was not what was bothering her. Whether she liked to admit it or not, the dream had not only been remarkably meaningful but also remarkably timely. She had dreamed of Calbren's granddaughter, his only surviving relative and the heiress to the duchy of Mira, wearing his most distinctive trademark – the hat – and carrying his symbol of office – the cane – bringing forth the final pear of a set of five. Pears. Hadn't she been spinning around with that metaphor on the way back to the office that evening? Everything going pear-shaped? The heiress, taking on the duchy, tossing idly in her hand the last part of the trouble – it all made perfect, undeniable sense.

The unsolved mystery that troubled her now was _how she had known_.

She caught herself mid-worry and shoved the concerns firmly aside, muttering unintelligibly to herself. Damn foreign witch wasn't even here yet, and already she was spoiling her shower. Good mood shattered, she hurried through the rest of the exercise with little enjoyment and returned to her bedroom wrapped in her towel. The morning sun through the windows would help, and even more so now there wasn't enough direct light left to get in her eyes.

Settling herself into the alcove made by the window arch, glad that the litter of kittens had migrated to the other side of the building, she looked out towards the port. The sea was calm and clear, and there was no sign of a ship. Hm. What time was it? Twenty past ten – had she really taken that long? And no sign of the Mirai yet. So much for Skeed's estimate.

…But the dock was also virtually deserted, which was puzzling. Vallye frowned. Surely there ought to be **someone** out there awaiting the Duchess' arrival – in fact, she was certain that there ought to be, and equally certain that Skeed would have arranged for it. So where **were** they?

A misplaced point of light commandeered her attention for a moment. Looking towards it, she spotted a gathering at the old skydock – and there, there they were. It figured. The Mirai were famous for their adherence to their varied and often rather idiosyncratic ways, and Melodia, who had often politely declined offers to ride in the swifter, better armed Imperial cruisers in favour of taking her own ship, was no exception. And this was that ship, this bright star of the West now drawing gracefully into the capital. It had always been an inspiring sight, entirely constructed of a blue glass-like material that almost allowed one to see into the vessel from the outside, but now that it was one of the few remaining skyships in operation the Benetonash was drawing quite a crowd at the docks. The sunlight reflected off the shimmering surface – ah, that was what she'd seen just a moment ago – doubtless dazzling some of the onlookers who had gathered to see the barbarians arrive. No, not barbarians, you wouldn't get away with that in this day and age…

…And that little figure in grey would have to be Melodia, with attendants swarming around her like so many brightly-coloured butterflies. Even at this distance, the new Duchess looked startlingly ashen by comparison. Vallye wondered just how much the news of her grandfather's untimely death had taken out of her. The mighty leader of Malpercio's daemon forces had worn white, she recalled. Yes, she had always worn white, and with it combinations of every vibrant hue imaginable, but surely not grey…and certainly not **this** much grey. The sight was almost disheartening. It was as though the colours themselves had been drawn from her, perhaps at the moment she learned of her grandfather's demise. …Or perhaps the desert sun had merely dulled her clothes. Enough of the metaphors. Vallye was sick of metaphors. She did not need them to tell her that this Duchess was not the tyrant of the Nine Skies, though whether said tyrant was gone for good or merely dormant she could not say.

The Mirai as a collective began moving towards the centre of town after only a short interchange with the Mintakan personnel at the skydock, and Vallye knew that she could not trust her underlings at Haitch-Queue to field them for very long either. With this in mind, she rose from her place by the window and set about making herself presentable. Clothes, for example, would be a good start. Her fingers strayed briefly towards her customary green jacket, but closed a heartbeat later around a set of black garments nearby. Hardly worn nowadays, so seldom was she out of her uniform. But she had an excuse now, didn't she? Respect for the dead? …She was going to bake out there. But no, no, she'd be inside and inside had the cooling fans running. …Turning up out of uniform? Who would care?

Who was **left** to care?

Resolved, she hastily threw the sombre black trouser suit together with her usual white collared shirt and deep red tie. Her attempts to drag a brush through her still damp hair were partially successful, though the exercise did involve a considerable degree of foul language, and by half past ten Commander Vallye was leaving the house, trying not to remember that Skeed had wanted her at the docks by ten. Not that it mattered much. He wasn't about to get angry – her brother's calm, collected temperament and almost permanent expression of indifference belied his fearsome reputation – and despite her prior notoriety, the little Mirai Duchess probably wouldn't kick up much of a fuss either. She looked as though she barely possessed the vitality to raise her voice at someone who displeased her, let alone do the guilty party any lasting harm.

One can gather a great deal of insight into the nature of the universe in general by noting that mere moments after Vallye had thought this, the sound of a woman's voice speaking a foreign language came to her ears. To refer to the voice as raised would be rather like calling the late Emperor Geldoblame a greed-crazed villain: it was accurate, appropriate, and yet still entirely inadequate.

Two streets from the main headquarters, Vallye broke into a run.

The office was surprisingly still, given the time of day, when she hurried through the main doors. Everyone was listening to the heated argument going on through the door at the back – wait, that was where she and Skeed usually interrogated suspects. Oh bugger. She should have been here on time, should have known that her wretched subordinates would make a pow's ear of –

She was spared the trouble of torturing herself further by an almighty crash and clatter from the questioning room. A beat – the door swung open and clanged against the wall, considerably deepening the dent left behind by years of use, and a small figure in grey stormed through it. Duchess Calbren was heading for the exit. Wisely, the office-folk did not stand in her way. Less wisely, Vallye stood and stared as the young woman marched directly up to her. She could do nothing **but** stare, even when the Duchess glared right back at her, shouted something vehement and no doubt intensely colourful while gesturing violently at the room she had just left, and swept out of her field of vision. Only when the main doors had closed behind the young foreigner did she breathe out, somewhat startled, and say, "…I don't **speak** Mirai – will someone **please** tell me what's going on?"

"We-ell," the same nervous bespectacled gentleman from the previous night answered uncertainly, "I **think** she just said something along the lines of Get Me A Bloody Human Being, I Refuse To Converse Any Further With This – um, insert expletive here…"

Vallye's startled expression shifted seamlessly into a snarl of disgust. "Oh, that's just **perfect**."

Into the interrogation chamber she strode, only to be faced with the sight of a soldier…upside down, behind the overturned table, with the remains of one of the chairs scattered liberally around him. Kanden. She ought to have known. Her lips a thin line of disapproval, Vallye stepped over a stray chairleg and hauled the man upright by the back of his jacket.

"Well **that** was nicely handled," she said coldly, setting him on his feet. "Just what the hell did you think you were playing at? We have quite enough enemies **without** adding the Duchess of Mira to their number."

Kanden writhed free of her grip, scowling and rubbing his cheekbone. A bruise was forming there, possibly from hitting the floor. "What th'hell was I supposed to do?" he snapped. "She's mental! Crazy foreign bitch – she **hit** me! Screamed at me in heathen, an'then only went and fuckin' **slapped** me – "

"Language – "

" – damn near broke m'glasses – "

"What did you **say** to her?"

The man looked defensive. "Tol'er she couldn't go poking 'round the corpse – "

That explained a lot. Foreigners tended to be sensitive with regard to the bodies of deceased loved ones, and the Mirai, with their strong connections to the spirit world, were the worst of the lot. Vallye glowered at him. "You pillock," she spat. "You complete and utter **pillock**. **Now** how am I supposed to deal with her?"

"Well, she didn't give me **time** to 'splain, did she? Fuckin' **mental**…"

Vallye threw up her hands in frustration. "Augh – fine, sod you then. Stay the hell out of my way. I have to clean up your mess before it gets any worse."

She left Kanden to nurse his abused cheek, heading outside in search of the Duchess. Good thing it was her taking care of this and not Skeed: he'd make it worse. The question now was whether or not **she** could make it any **better** – after such a horrendous start she knew she had a lot to make up for, and despite her lack of faith in Skeed's diplomatic abilities she wasn't sure she was the best person for the job either. …And where **was** the Duchess, anyway? She squinted into the glare of the morning sun, trying to pick out a small grey and white lady among the Mintakans to-ing and fro-ing along the street. No sign of her. Argh, where had she hidden herself?

She stepped out of the shade of the building. "Your Grace?" she called, half desperately hoping for an answer and half fervently wishing that the angry little foreigner had left altogether. "…Duchess Calbren?"

"Up here."

The words were Mintakan. Perfect Mintakan. The soft Mirai accent did nothing to hamper Vallye's understanding of the words, but she did have to look around for a few moments before she understood where Up Here was. On the roof. On the roof of HQ. Sitting on the roof of HQ, in the shade of another building, barely visible from the street. "How did you…" Climb the small metal ladder to the roof in those heels. And why, for that matter. Vallye sighed. Foreigners were odd. "…oh, never mind. I'm coming up – just a minute."

Up she climbed. To her credit she only slipped once, and that very briefly. The Duchess was staring blankly at the horizon, not seeming to care that the shaded part of the roof where she sat was cold. Vallye, standing nearby in the sun, felt at something of a loss. Should she sit, or remain on her feet? Perhaps it would be safer to kneel.

"…He was out of order, speaking to you in such a manner," she began, the note of caution evident in her tone.

The Duchess did not look away from the point in the distance that seemed to hold her attention. "He was **beyond** out of order speaking to **anyone** in such a manner, Commander," she said quietly. "You will understand if I do not wish to converse with him again."

It wasn't an order. It probably ought to have been. "Would you be willing to speak with someone else instead? I am sure we – "

One white hand cut her off mid-sentence. Vallye was used to falling instantly silent at such a gesture. What she was **not** used to was taking orders from a little girl. Though it seemed odd, now she set eyes upon Melodia at close quarters, now she wasn't being shouted at in heathen, to think of her as the child she – technically – was. Something unspeakable, a glimmer of some power so deep-rooted and so sure it was almost **tangible** lingered in those eyes as they met hers. "I will speak with **you**, Commander," – and this was no child's voice – "if – and **only** if – you allow me to see my grandfather."

The Duke. Vallye had feared she might say as much. "Our investigation is of paramount importance at this time," she tried, hoping she didn't sound too much like Kanden. She liked her limbs where they were.

"**Please**, Commander."

To Vallye's surprise, the Duchess did not look angry. She looked hurt; indeed, her expression was almost desperate. Used to getting her way, lacking experience of a world without someone to dote on her – typical rich girl. …Maybe that was harsh. She'd been through a lot lately.

"Do not tell me that because he is dead, he can await anyone's pleasure in seeing him indefinitely. Do not tell me that the touch of a granddaughter's hand upon his cheek, just one last time, will ruin your chances of finding his killer. Do not tell me now that this country will not let a son weep for the loss of his father, nor let a mother answer her crying child. This is no different."

Vallye's attempt to protest began automatically, but she never got beyond taking a breath to speak – in a way, Melodia was right. That sounded exactly like Alfard under Geldoblame: every natural response suppressed, the better to increase the productivity of the working population. Work above everything. The rut she'd been stuck in all her life. She closed her mouth.

The little foreigner seemed to realise that she was getting through. "Please…let me see my grandfather. Give me faith in you, Commander, and I shall reward you."

With a sigh, Vallye relented. "…Very well. You shall have your wish."

"…Thank you."

Later, Vallye would swear that she was only taken aback by the change in the Duchess' expression and not by the expression itself. The truth, sadly, was this: she could not remember the last time she had seen a smile worn by anyone other than Skeed, and Melodia wore hers with an effortless, genuine charm that had, for a moment, disarmed her utterly.

"Come sit with me?"

She had expected to feel better for knowing what to do with herself. Instead, settling on to the roof in the sun, leaving a sensible few feet between herself and the Duchess, she felt awkward. The line of the shadow seemed to mark out the barrier between them, but while it separated them it did not offer the protection of a solid wall. She avoided Melodia's gaze with all the deliberation of the incredibly nervous.

"Commander?"

That was her, wasn't it? "Mm?"

"…Might I have your name?"

"Don't you have your own?" Vallye answered, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Um. Your Grace." Too late.

Thankfully, the Duchess smiled at the remark. "Melodia. Please. I should rather be no one's Grace unless absolutely necessary."

"…Vallye."

"Sorry?"

Cautiously, Vallye stole a look at the little foreigner. "S'my name. Vallye."

She watched pale lips test the word silently. "…Hm."

Silence reigned for some moments. Eventually, Vallye spoke. "…We had better go now. The rest of the team are coming in at eleven, and they – "

" – are likely to be about as understanding as your friend Kanden?"

Vallye closed her eyes. "…something like that."

Melodia sighed. "I feared as much. Give me a minute. I shall follow you down."

"Is now a bad time? You seemed so keen to see him."

"Yes, but not to go back into there and be stared at like some exhibit in a museum."

"…yes, I see." She headed for the ladder. "I'll await you at the door towards the back of the main office."

"Thank you."

Down the ladder she went, shaking her head in disbelief. Duchess Calbren was proving difficult to handle. She missed the grandfather – at least he hadn't been prone to such rapid changes of temperament. At least you knew where he was coming from at any given moment. With Melodia, it was almost like trying to talk to six people at once.

"And just my luck," she muttered, pushing open the main doors and stepping into the office, "one of those six is an angry foreigner who only speaks Mirai…"

"Ah…she **does** speak Mintakan, Commander – "

Vallye waved off Glasses with a sigh. "Yeah, I know…**one** of her does."

"…Commander?"

"Don't ask."

A deathly hush followed Melodia into the office. She looked strained – the slightly awkward friendliness of before was nowhere to be seen. The words she spoke took, or so it seemed, more effort to form than they ought.

"…Lead me on."

Silently, Vallye led the way towards the back of the building, descended a flight of stairs, held open the door to the morgue, and watched a granddaughter face, at last, the dreadful truth.

Duke Calbren was laid out on one of the stone slabs, covered from neck to toes by a single white sheet, still and pale in the sombre grey room. Melodia stopped in her tracks, one gloved hand moving swiftly to muffle the tiny sob that slipped from her mouth. Even Vallye, who hardly knew him, was struck by the jarring finality of the scene. When she had first caught sight of him in the passageway, she had tried for a moment to believe that he was merely asleep; here, now, he could only be dead. She watched as the Duchess took slow, near-faltering steps towards her grandfather's body, and all at once she could only think of a little red-haired girl walking that same path towards her mother. She bit her lip. By the time Melodia was standing at the Duke's side, she could taste blood.

The Duchess didn't break down. That surprised Vallye. After the outburst in the office she had been expecting a scene. There were tears in her eyes as she smoothed his hair, but she did not make a sound. Silently she caught up his hand from where it lay at his side, gently she uncurled his fingers, and…Vallye frowned. Melodia had put something in the Duke's hand…something that had caught the light for a moment and glittered…and she had said something under her breath…

And now she was moving sharply away, after less than a minute, fighting tears and winning. She did not wait for Vallye to follow her out. Taking the opportunity to investigate, Vallye slipped quietly over to the Duke and carefully tugged the Something free of his cold hand.

It was a single, perfect shard of red glass.

Carved into one side were three foreign words:

_AVE ATQUE VALE _

Vallye blinked at the small, chilly object. What a strange thing to leave with a body…

Talking of leaving, she had better get out of the morgue before the team arrived – and, for that matter, before the Duchess wondered what was taking her so long. She tucked the piece of glass back into the Duke's hand and hurried from the room, keen to be out of the dismal atmosphere of the place more than anything else. Admittedly, though, she wished that the office might have such an effective cooling system.

Melodia was nowhere to be seen when she reached the top of the stairs. The deputy she had dubbed Glasses – what **was** his name, anyway? – indicated the main doors. Rolling her eyes, Vallye hurried out into the street. She had **not** signed on to run around after foreign dignitaries, murdered relatives or no murdered relatives.

Luckily, the Duchess was not far ahead of her. Vallye caught up at a light run and fell into step beside her. "It's not entirely safe to wander the streets in these troubled times," she pointed out.

Melodia did not turn to look at her. "I know. I do not intend to be wandering them for long."

"Where do you mean to go?"

"The Fortress. To examine the crime scene."

Vallye blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Sorry, I rather thought you might have inferred the unspoken The Hell Are You Thinking after that What." Ooh, Skeed would have been proud of that one.

"I am **thinking** to make some use of myself," the Duchess shot back, "despite your clumsy attempts to dissuade me."

Vallye swallowed the worst of the curses. Just. "And just what the hell kind of use d'you think you'll be?" she snapped. "Reality check, woman! You're a **Duchess**, not a bloody PI!"

Melodia halted, closing her eyes and clenching her fists. "…fine. Just…just tell me what you have, if your desire to keep me from interfering with the evidence is so strong."

"Not here," Vallye said sharply, glowering at one passer-by who had stopped in the street to watch the argument unfold. "If I have to tell you I'd rather not tell the rest of Mintaka at the same time."

Without another word, she turned and headed for home. She didn't bother to look and see if Melodia was following her. The little lady would almost certainly follow her informant anywhere, and even if not, who cared? The team at the site could take care of her. She was sick to death of babysitting. What had she been thinking up on the roof? Melodia had seemed so amiable, and damn her if she hadn't been completely taken in. Nosy, conniving little bitch… Well, as long as she followed her she could keep her at the house where she couldn't get into any trouble.

She did follow. Vallye let her into the house, safe in the knowledge that Skeed wouldn't be coming home for lunch. She'd insisted, if she remembered the early hours of the morning correctly, upon meeting him elsewhere for lunch – half past twelve outside the café on Moon Street, one of the few that were still in business these days, more for the sake of making him eat than to swap progress reports.

The Duchess had found her way into the sitting room. That would do. Vallye followed her, closing doors as she passed through them. Shutting out the world. "Sit."

There was that spark again, that flash of power in her eyes. "You believe I need to?"

"No, I believe I'm damn telling you to," Vallye said flatly, folding into an armchair. "I've sat down now, and I don't want neck strain."

So she sat.

"Good. Right." She faced the Duchess with the most impassive expression she could contrive. "You want the facts? This is what we've got. He was shot once in the back with a bullet rifle. Not an Imperial weapon. Killed him in a single shot, almost at once from what we can tell. These three idiots we're holding claim to have found him when they opened his door to play some kind of practical joke – he apparently fell on them. This was about two in the morning. He was already long dead by then. No one heard or saw anything, or more accurately no one **admits** to having heard or seen anything, and by the time we got to the scene there was no sign of the weapon or the killer. We took the bullet that killed him out of the back of his door, which seems to back up the testimony of the daft buggers who found him, and we pulled a second one out of the wall beyond some sort of table. This is the part I admit you might understand better than me: there was, or had been, a fair sized mirror on that table. The table was standing by the door, on the side nearest the window, and we found the empty frame on the table, upright, towards the edge nearest the back wall. Someone put that second bullet through it – we're assuming the killer – "

"Half past nine."

It took Vallye a moment or so to register the interruption. " – at half past n…wait, **what**?"

Melodia nodded slowly. "Yes, at half past nine, evening, in Balancoire. Eight o'clock your time."

"…" Vallye struggled to find the words to fill the silence. "…How do you know?"

The Duchess looked solemn. "…That was his shrine mirror. I saw its twin shatter at half past nine last night. After that, I could barely even think of sleep. I knew something had to be wrong, but this…"

Vallye waved one hand to stop the conversation. The other was attempting to ward off the approaching headache by massaging the bridge of her nose. "…whoawhoawhoawait – so…that mirror has a twin somewhere, and it just…broke? At half past nine, or eight o'clock, or whenever?"

"The twin would not shatter unless his shrine mirror had been broken, of that I can assure you," Melodia said firmly. "The mirrors of Coccolith do not just turn to splinters where they stand."

That earned her a frown. "…But was he even **there** when the mirror was smashed?"

"I cannot be certain at this present moment. Give me but a shard of that mirror and I could tell you more."

Blink. Blink. "…damn. You're serious."

"If I look serious, Commander, I generally am."

Still Commander, even though she knew her name…why had she asked? "…wouldyoumindifIasked**how**?"

"Mirror magic," Melodia said. "It is…how shall I explain this? …It is possible to recreate the moments just before, during and just after the breaking of the mirror by accessing the record its twin made of what that mirror saw. There is no magic in a shrine mirror. Its link to its twin, however…can render it useful."

"Sooo…you think you can tell us what was happening around the time the mirror was broken?"

"I know I can." There was a shadow of a smile upon her lips. "Did I not say that if you gave me faith in you I would reward you? The reward shall be worth your while, Commander. Give me a shard of the mirror and you may bide my proof."

Sceptical though she was, as she left the house Vallye promised Melodia that she would have what she desired by four in the afternoon. She found herself hoping, with a strange level of urgency, that the White Lady of Mira would be as much use to their cause as she claimed. And that she would stay put in the house and stay the hell out of trouble.

Seconds later, she caught herself adding that a few more smiles might be nice.

* * *

_To be continued in Chapter Four – Wednesday's Children… _

Reviews of all kinds are, as always, welcome – you can even flame me if you like, but I'm not responsible for the ridicule to which you will inevitably be subjected by your fellow readers. XD


	4. Wednesday's Children, 1 of 3

**Title:** The Broken Mirror  
**Author:** DareDelvil  
**Disclaimer:** It still isn't mine, guys. Not even Kanden, really - first person to tell me where his name comes from gets a cameo in the next chapter.  
**Rating:** PG-13 for the siblings' usual repertoire of expletives.  
**Spoilers:** Whole game spoilers here and there – DON'T READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T COMPLETELY FINISHED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
**Pearing:** Still nothing. I'd like to note here and now that this fic is probably less shippy than shippable and less slashy than slashable. The couples are there if you want them to be.  
**Words:** c. 3,400  
**Summary:** Post-game. The investigation continues. The siblings swap progress reports, and Vallye attempts to get some work done.  
**Author's Notes:** …Let's not even go into where I've been, shall we? XD This chapter is a **monster** at approximately 9,200 words, and therefore it's being split into three more manageable parts. Hereafter follows the first of these. As the chapter progresses you'll notice I go from curly quotes and apostrophes to non-curly ones – that's because I'm using a different editor for my writing these days, and I turned off the curly quotes for reasons that currently escape me. Can I be bothered to go back and edit them all? No. XD

**Dedication:** To all the reviewers – Rebbe, Mugzie, Phoenixfire1389, pumpkinchao and TwistedSaffron – and particularly to the last of these for the damn you gave about this old thing.

**

* * *

**

The Broken Mirror 

**Chapter Four – Wednesday's Children**

_Part One_

Skeed was late. Much to Vallye's surprise, he was only five minutes late. He didn't apologise - Vallye would probably have ignored him anyway. Sliding awkwardly into the seat opposite his sister, he stared at some mark on the tablecloth. He habitually refused to look at her when he was late, or not eating, or not sleeping, or doing something else that might upset her.

"Well?" Vallye prompted.

Her brother's expression did not change. "Well what?"

"Menu, Skeed. Choose something. Or I'll pick it and you'll have to eat it."

"Do that. It all tastes the same anyway."

She rolled her eyes at him, but began searching the menu. Something with fish in it. He usually finished that. Prawns? Prawns would do. And a coffee. He always drank coffee. It even seemed to make a difference to him if you gave him nice coffee rather than bad coffee. She tapped briefly at the touchpad on the menu before setting it into a slot at the side of the table.

"How did it go?" Skeed asked quietly.

Vallye paused, hand still on the menu. Moving said hand slowly to rest in her lap, she bit her lip. "…Hard to say. She's an odd woman. **Very** odd."

"Odd as in…oh, psychotic, for instance?"

She frowned. "Honestly, no…just angry, and then expressionless, and then desperate, and then happy, and then expressionless again, and then nervous, and then crying, and then expressionless again, and then frustrated, and then…knowing…all in the space of about…what, ten, fifteen minutes?"

Skeed blinked a couple of times. "Wow."

"Like I said, she's odd."

"She sounds difficult to keep up with."

"That too. And she moves surprisingly quickly for one so small."

"So short, you mean."

"Ha, no. Small is better. But she was able to give me some information I'd otherwise have taken a good while to find." Among other things. "And you? What about your witnesses?"

Skeed's expression changed slightly. Irritated, Vallye's mind supplied automatically. "Nothing," he muttered. "Hardly anything at all from the guards, and not a sodding peep of anything that might be useful. They signed in, they did their jobs, they signed out. That's about it."

"Or so they claim."

"Well, exactly. Part of my problem - or perhaps **all** of my problem - is that I don't know whether my falling tree really did make no sound, or whether there was just no one around to hear it."

Vallye nodded slowly. "Or no one around who was willing to admit to hearing it."

"Which doesn't necessarily amount to the same situation," Skeed finished, poking at a stray grain of salt on the tablecloth.

"It'd help if we knew more about the weapon," Vallye said, pushing the salt cellar towards him.

Seemingly unconsciously, he pushed it back. One grain of salt was probably enough. "Mm, I've not had a chance to look into that one yet. I'm planning on hitting the testing range as soon as I can get hold of some projectile firearms - got people in every cache in the country looking for specimens."

"And if you don't get any?"

"My next stop's Diadem," Skeed said, a little stiffly. "They have ship cannons, so they might have the technology."

Vallye sighed, slipping into a quiet half-laugh that was mostly a mixture of disbelief and mild hysteria. "Diadem again. Is there one single problem we currently have that the bloody Cirra **won't** have a hand in solving?"

"Most of this case, if I can help it. What've you done with this Duchess of yours, then?"

"She's not **my** Duchess, Skeed," Vallye murmured, her gaze fixed upon the anxious looking serving-boy who was bringing their meals. "And she's back - that's mine - no, the eggs - thank you - she's back at the house, hopefully staying out of trouble this time."

Skeed looked from the retreating waiter to the dish in front of him to his sister. "Prawns, Vallye?"

"It's something you usually eat. Don't complain."

"With coffee?"

"Something you usually drink. You should have ordered it yourself." But then she saw the creeping grin. "If you're going to laugh at me, you can stop right now - Skeed, **stop** it!" He was chuckling. "Skeed! I've had a difficult morning, and I didn't devote much time to deciding what I was going to make you eat!"

"Calm down, Vallye," Skeed said good-naturedly, plucking one of the prawns from the salad and examining it. "You're right on all counts. Especially about the difficult morning. When can we expect to be rid of your odd foreign Duchess?"

"**Not** 'my Duchess', Skeed, I keep telling you. And I honestly don't know, but though she's clearly as troublesome as we feared I think she might be more useful than we originally expected."

Skeed was chewing the prawn with some small hint of enjoyment. "Usheful?"

"Mouthful, Skeed." But at least he was eating.

A twisted smile. "Complainin' ol' baggage." He swallowed. "Useful, you said?"

"Mm. She's acting **very** strangely, though, considering the circumstances - took her down to the morgue to see the body, she insisted, and she barely even cried. We were only there a minute or two. I thought there'd be histrionics for sure, especially after she smacked Kanden around for saying she couldn't go down there - "

Skeed swallowed another prawn. "She got into a fight with Kanden?"

Vallye rolled her eyes. "Not so much a fight as a slaughter, apparently - she knocked him silly. I found him flat on his back behind the overturned table, legs in the air, all over the remains of a smashed chair and with an impressive bruise across his face."

"Ha! Good for her. Wish I'd seen it. Do go on."

"…yes, where was I - oh, morgue, right - yes, she hardly cried at all. I found that odd, considering what seems to be her usual penchant for expressing everything she feels in its entirety."

"Violently emotional, but doesn't cry…" Skeed mused. "Hm. …You think she was acting?"

Vallye resisted the urge to put her elbows on the table. Her head felt remarkably heavy, and her neck was protesting at having to hold it upright. "Acting bloody well if she was," she sighed. "But damn, Skeed, he was all she had left and I swear, not one sob. She didn't even look **ill**, and there was a great bloody hole in his chest. She's no soldier or medic to stomach that so easily, whether she loved him or not. What are we dealing with here?"

"Did she see the damage?"

"Not sure. But still…"

Skeed nodded slowly. "Mm. Yes. Odd. Anything else?"

Vallye finished her mouthful of poached egg and toast, taking a drink of her orange juice before answering the question. "Now you mention it, yes - she left something in his hand. In the Duke's hand. In the morgue."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Perfect piece of cut glass - hexagons everywhere. Always the same six-sided figure, same proportions no matter how you looked at it. Red. Three foreign words carved into it: A V E space A T Q U E space V A L E. Skies know what that means."

Skeed frowned. "…That's not the sort of thing one casually carries around, is it?"

"Exactly. I know she's weird, but that's a little **too** weird."

"Follow it up," Skeed said, stabbing another two prawns with his fork. "Could mean something. After all, it's no secret that our little Duchess loves power, and in the absence of the Duke…she has rather a lot of that, does she not?"

"She's not our Duchess either," Vallye reminded him. "And that's as may be, but I maintain - as I did say earlier - that she could be useful to us. I suggest we keep her around for a while."

Her brother paused, skewered prawns half way to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered his fork and laid it at the side of his plate. "…Vallye, how long is 'a while' likely to be?"

And to think she'd hoped he wasn't going to be difficult about it. Bugger. "Until she's of no further use to the investigation, or we crack the case. Whichever is sooner."

Skeed's eyes narrowed. "Oh, **no**. I am **not** having that foreign witch hanging around and peering over my shoulder every five minutes. This is **my** damn investigation. And besides, she could very well be our greatest suspect."

"Her alibi's airtight - she was a Whale away…"

"But her influence might not have been," Skeed pointed out, a little too triumphantly for Vallye's liking. She wasn't sure why she cared. "She's got the money to hire someone to do it, and hiring someone to do it here means there'd be no word of it around Mira."

Vallye had to admit he was right. "And it drops the blame in our laps, too. …We're going to have to be careful. But still, she might be useful if we appear to play into her hand - if she's **not** the one, she might well have some idea of where we should start looking, and if she is…she might slip up."

"Or she might not, and she might feed us false information." Skeed was getting frustrated. It was a slight change of tone, but after years of practice Vallye recognised it at once. "She could interfere with the witnesses - could **already** be doing so - "

"But she knows when the mirror was broken," Vallye said insistently, leaning over the table and speaking so that only Skeed could hear. "Just **knows**. Something about a twin in…somewhere with a Mirai name."

Skeed blinked a few times, utterly blindsided. "That's…either incriminating or just severely weird."

Vallye sat back. "I'm going for the latter," she said, cutting another morsel of toast free from one of the slices on her plate. "And before you say anything, no, she hasn't bewitched me. I don't blame you for suspecting her. She's as odd as the murder, no doubt about it. But then again, if she **isn't** the one…she might be just odd enough to help us crack this case."

Her brother shook his head. "You're mad."

"Maybe that's how we need to think, Skeed - if you're right, there's no rational, sensible, logical reason for killing Candyman Calbren. If we're going to think like the killer, we'll **have** to be mad." And madness, desperate solution though it might be, was at least a respite from the monotony of everyday existence. Not that this was one of her motivations, of course.

Skeed gave her a suspicious glance. "…Vallye, why do you want Duchess Calbren on this case?"

"I don't," Vallye said simply. "She knows next to nothing about investigations like this. But what she **does** know is magic. I don't mean the kind you can code into a magnus and toss out any old where, I mean the whole shooting match. Mumbo-jumbo. Voodoo, talking to spirits, illusions, telekinesis, mind magic, blood magic, **mirror** magic. And that's why I want her help. She knows something about that mirror, and not just when it was broken." She reached down and pulled a book out of the small bag at her side. "…I've been doing some reading since I left her at the house, in between trying to hold things together at the office. I think she might be able to use the mirror to tell us what was happening just before Calbren died."

"…Okay, now I **know** you're mad," Skeed scoffed. "Reconstruct the scene from a broken mirror? That's not mumbo-jumbo, that's nonsense. She's an irritating barbarian who might have wanted him dead, and that's all there is to it."

Vallye dropped the book on to his side of the table. "She's a barbarian with the know-how, Skeed, and we haven't enough other sources of evidence to piece this thing together. Face it: there are things they know that we don't. Things they can do that we can't. This is one of them. This whole damn case is steeped in weird, broken mirror and bullets and all, and she's an expert in the field. Like it or not, we need her in on this case."

Skeed examined the cover of the book, still seeming unconvinced. "…This stuff actually works?" When Vallye nodded, he raised an eyebrow. "No magnus involved?"

"No magnus involved."

"…Well - " And he tucked the book into his own bag. " - if nothing else, it'll be something to see. All right. She stays. But only for as long as absolutely necessary."

Vallye relaxed visibly. "Thank you."

"And since it seems so important to you."

She glowered at him. "I just want to get the damn case solved, Skeed. That's all there is to it."

"Yes, Vallye."

"And don't you Yes Vallye me in that tone of voice."

"Yes, Vallye." He smirked behind a lettuce leaf.

"Argh. Infuriating bugger."

They finished the rest of the meal in relative silence. Skeed took a subdued kind of delight in examining each prawn before he ate it. Watching him in between mouthfuls of egg and toast, Vallye wondered for the umpteenth time whether he felt as much as she did - certainly if he did, he did not show it. The air of stoicism that hung about her brother was almost impenetrable. Perhaps this was his way of coping: where she got angry with the world, he retreated from it.

"What's this afternoon?"

His question cut short Vallye's train of thought, forcing her to take another - "More background reading. Looking into the Duke's magical history, see if there's anything there that might better explain the mirror. Attacking the note spike, of course. …Taking the shard to the Duchess, that too. By four o'clock."

"You'd already prepared to do it before you asked me, hadn't you?"

"Mm, just in case you said no."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm never sure if I can pull rank on you or not."

"Don't even try it." She finished her glass of orange juice. "What about you?"

"Two left to question - the two in the towers," Skeed answered, stirring his coffee idly. "They've been…difficult to track down. And then it's back to the dusty old books in the desperate hope of finding my murder weapon."

"Hurrah. Better you than me."

"I could say the very same about you and your Duchess."

Vallye mentally recited the alphabet backwards. It helped. "…For the last time, Skeed…"

Skeed waved her off with a sigh. "I know, I know. Not your Duchess. It just sounds better than calling her your problem."

For some reason, that was exactly what she had needed to hear. She almost managed to swallow the grin. "Hm. I suppose so."

Seeing Skeed almost grin back was the best thing that had happened to her all day.

They went their separate ways a few minutes later, Skeed to the Fortress and Vallye to her desk. Thankfully no one troubled her as she made her way through the main room to the office she shared with her brother - despite the none too small victory of having made the aforementioned stubborn bugger eat something substantial, she was still in an unpredictable mood. Somehow she had managed to work herself back into the same train of thought that had so frustrated her yesterday. Thinking about life, she considered as she dropped into her chair and afforded the towering pile of documents in the in-tray a weary glance, was dangerous. It always gave her the same feeling, this dull ache that she could only call a mixture of resentment and apathy: hating where she was, what she was, **who** she was, but lacking the strength of will to change any of it.

What would she change, anyway? Her job? No - even if she cared nothing for Alfard, Skeed would still need her here. Her appearance? Definitely not, for that was one of the few things she was just about content to keep. Even Skeed admitted that she possessed some degree of beauty, though the phrase "too sharp" was frequently applied to more than her wit (and she wasn't sure whether or not the part about the deathly pallor had been complimentary either). Her situation? Would it be any better at the bottom of the metaphorical heap? Given that most of the thieves she encountered in the ruined quarter of Mintaka were more desperate than villainous, she suspected not. Every thread of questioning, in fact, seemed to lead her to the same wretched conclusion: that the life she led, while deeply unsatisfying, was the least of countless evils.

Resigned for the time being, she pointedly ignored the paperwork and pulled the note spike out of its holder. Two or three nondescript morsels of paper dropped off the bottom end - that ought to do for now - and she returned the spike to the slot. Clever idea of Skeed's, this: queues were infinitely safer than stacks. Search files for miscreant of description recorded on the twenty-ninth (of **last** month - damn, she was going to have to speed things up a little), arrange meeting with Cirran authorities re. aura magnus tech (ah, she'd been wondering when that would turn up), and -

_If you're reading this, you've reached your birthday._

_Here's hoping it's the one for this year._

_- S_

She was going to bloody **kill** him, but she couldn't help grinning all the same. It was the one for this year. Two and a half weeks ago. She fingered the inside pocket of her jacket, feeling the by now familiar shape of the spoon he had cast for her out of some carefully requisitioned wire, and remembered him dropping it gently into her soup bowl as he passed by her chair at dinner. The sentimental sod had remembered her complaining about soup spoons, specifically how they all seemed to be made for folk with mouths the size of major interdimensional rifts, and he'd gone away and made her a smaller one. It was at that kind of moment, she thought with a wistful air, that she was glad for Skeed. Despite his chilly demeanour and semblance of emotional aridity, he did know when to show that he was listening to her. Touching though it seemed that she now carried the spoon with her everywhere, her family's cold but practical way of thinking was once again to blame: she already had her own well kept coffee mug at the office, and having been forced to borrow spoons for years she was not willing to place any more trust than she had to in Kanden's idea of washing up.

Finding a list of possible identities for the troublemaker took a while (Vallye cursed the lack of a sane filing system), and she left that on Skeed's desk for follow-up. Organising the meeting took longer, because though Skeed was better at writing letters he didn't deal with barbarians unless he absolutely had to - Vallye found letters more difficult, but at least she didn't feel the urge to slip an insult into every other sentence. By the time she had finished the final draft the clock on the wall read 15:45, and she had to leave it at that. Checking and signing and sealing could happen tomorrow.

She snatched the mirror shard from downstairs - several of them were being examined by some of the team - before hurrying home to pass it on to the Duchess. Well, at least she'd managed to get **something** done this afternoon. Better than running around after troublemakers and not actually getting anywhere. Skies bleeding, she needed a cup of coffee. Spending the rest of the afternoon in the sitting room with those books and a cup of coffee sounded remarkably appealing. Of course, that also meant she'd have the quietest cooling fan in the house. It wasn't evening yet. She'd lived in Mintaka all her life, but that didn't mean she didn't feel the heat.

The Duchess met her at the door. Vallye offered the small shiny object to her without a word, and similarly silently Melodia took it. She turned and headed towards the back of the house a moment later. Not a word of a thank you.

"Where are you going?" Vallye asked, clearly without much interest.

The foreigner did not spare her a glance as she left. "The living room," she said simply. "Spacious enough."

…And that put an end to Vallye's hopes of a nice sit down. She sighed, without a trace of patience, and made for the stairs.

_

* * *

To be continued in Part Two…_

If anyone's still reading this thing, let's hear you!


	5. Wednesday's Children, 2 of 3

**Title:** The Broken Mirror  
**Author:** DareDelvil  
**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine. Anyone figured out where Kanden's from yet?  
**Rating:** PG-13, just in case Skeed and Vallye have slipped some swearwords past me.  
**Spoilers:** Whole game spoilers here and there – DON'T READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T COMPLETELY FINISHED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
**Pearing:** Shippable, slashable, nothing stated. All hail subtext.  
**Words:** c. 2,900  
**Summary:** Post-game. The investigation continues. Vallye does some reading, the siblings have dinner, Melodia turns up the weird until the knob comes off.  
**Author's Notes:** Part two of three, in a vaguely timely fashion even. I haven't got anything down in longhand for Chapter Five yet, though, so expect to wait a little longer for the third and final part of this chapter (unless, by some miracle, I actually get Chapter Five properly under way within the next few days).  
**Dedication:** Two people this time – newcomer Campanile and chief of pestering TwistedSaffron. Thanks to you both.

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**The Broken Mirror**

**Chapter Four – Wednesday's Children**

_Part Two_

Her bedchamber wasn't so bad. It was cool enough at this time of day, and the natural light was better than anything downstairs if you knew where to sit. It wasn't that she didn't **mind** being evicted from her own sitting room, she reminded herself as she towed her pillow over to the leftmost window arch to serve as a cushion, but she wasn't going to let this little foreign Duchess put her out. She had a job to do, and she was damn well going to do it.

Settling into her makeshift workspace, she plucked the nearest volume from her bag and let it fall open at a random page.

"…_other stigma associated with spirit magic was a commonplace occurrence less than fifty years ago. To think of the practice as entirely clandestine would be…"_

Vallye blinked a couple of times before flicking to the index. D, D, D…Dukes - ducal responsibilities, members of the family as practising mages…well, it was worth a look. One hundred and four…

"…_of the City of Illusion, the Ducal family is responsible, directly or symbolically, for all aspects of the island's operation. The seal on the Labyrinth of Coccolith is maintained by the current Duke or Duchess, the automatons of Reverence are under his or her protection and jurisdiction, and - perhaps most famously of all - one member of the Ducal family, one with sufficient magical and spiritual prowess and not necessarily the current head of house, is always given charge of the Shrine of Spirits at Nekton. This particular duty of the Mirai nobility is very well documented, perhaps because so many crises have been averted by the constant vigilance of the Shrine's series of guardians. Due to the island's state of dimensional flux, the danger posed by vengeful spirits and wandering horrors is all too real…"_

Boldly she read on, trying to take in the information but feeling somewhat overwhelmed. Knowing little enough about Mira in the first place, to have so much thrown at her all at once was hardly the most ideal way of gathering clues. Fifteen pages or so later she hadn't found a single mention of mirrors. That didn't help her confidence levels either. Looking up M for Mirror garnered her a list of references so long she almost gave up, but after a brief glance over the offerings her eyes alighted upon the word "shrine". There it was: "Mirror, shrine". Shrine mirror? Hadn't Melodia said…

The first index suggested by the reference had a picture on the opposite page - an almost exact replica of the mirror and table from the Duke's room. Vallye found herself grinning. "Jackpot," she murmured, scanning the writing once before setting to work.

She only looked up again before sunset because she heard the front door slam. Skeed was back already? A glance towards the clock - oh, all right, maybe she'd been at this for a while - and she rose awkwardly from her cushion, wincing as muscles that had lain idle for the last couple of hours were pressed into service. Dinner. What were they going to eat? Augh, she hadn't been thinking about that at all. Too busy with this bloody book… Down the stairs she went, trying not to trip on the carpet (why the hell was the carpet sticking up?) and moments later she hurried into the kitchen -

"Welcome back."

…only to find that Skeed was already there, giving her his trademark raised eyebrow of mild amusement. Was her hair in disarray or something? She glowered at him. "Don't give me that look," she grumbled, pushing him gently aside and heading for the cupboards. "No, I haven't started dinner yet; no, I don't know what I'm cooking; yes, you are in my way. Does that answer any and all questions?"

"Actually," Skeed answered quietly, "I was going to ask how you were."

Ouch. She didn't have the courage to backtrack or apologise, but she resisted the urge to shout at him for making her feel guilty. "…All right. I'm getting somewhere with the magical research - even Duchess Calbren is starting to make some little sense now - and I pulled a few things off the note spike. Including your pathetic excuse for a birthday card, you sentimental bugger."

That seemed to cheer him up. Not that anyone save Vallye would have been able to tell. "Hn. Are we catching our own tails yet?"

"They're on the horizon," Vallye shot back with an odd grin. "Come on, make yourself useful and give me ideas."

"For food?"

"That or who killed the Duke. Either will do."

"Mm. If you've got chicken or clucker we can't go far wrong with that, 'specially if there are any of those lemons left. As to the latter, from what you've told me you're probably better off asking Little Miss Muffet. …Where is she, anyway?"

Inwardly, Vallye was taken aback by Skeed's expression of an opinion on food of any sort. Outwardly, she settled for rolling her eyes at his last remark. "Commandeered the living room, last I heard. Hence my having to sit on the floor upstairs to get any natural light for reading, and therefore losing all feeling in my arse. - Andthat's**not**anexcusetohitmewiththatfryingpanyouevilbastard - "

But apparently he didn't need an excuse. She neatly sidestepped his half-serious swing and scooped up the rolling pin for a swift riposte, not entirely surprised when he brought the pan around to deflect her neat swipe. The two implements collided with a satisfying _clang_, and Skeed was almost smiling as he slid past the rolling pin to take another shot at her. Vallye hopped out of the way and caught him a crack across the back of the shoulders with the wooden pin - "Oi!" "Ha!" - but he quickly recovered and managed to knock it out of her hands with the pan. Another satisfying noise - more like _whong_ this time -

"What in the Skies is going **on** in there?

Both siblings froze. The rolling pin skittered _clackityclackityclackclkclkclk_ across the tiled kitchen floor.

"I heard this god-awful _whang_ noise - oh."

The Duchess was standing in the doorway, inspecting the tableau before her with what was either mild disapproval or mild amusement. Vallye hurriedly shoved Skeed away and busied herself with the search for magnus. They hardly ever managed to get anything fresh these days. "Dinner," she said shortly, not offering the white lady any explanation for the antics she had almost observed. "You do eat meat, don't you?" Because they couldn't very well turn her out without feeding her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vallye saw Melodia raise one white eyebrow. "You do cook it, do you not?" she returned, her tone somewhat chilly.

"Depends on whether or not we can get it to sit still long enough," Skeed muttered darkly from across the kitchen, causing Vallye to have to hold back a snort of laughter.

The Duchess' only response was a soft "hn" before she turned and left. Vallye smirked. "Sometimes I love you, you know?" she murmured to Skeed.

He returned the rolling pin to her. "Mm. That was stupid, though - she could very well be dangerous. No sense aggravating her further."

"I don't care. It was bloody worth it. Come on, dinner. Found those lemons yet?"

"...yes, here." Two vivid yellow objects sailed across the room. "So what's the plan?"

"I'm supposed to have a **plan**?" Vallye laughed. "Fat chance. I'm making this up as I go along."

"I didn't mean the investigation, Vallye."

"Neither did I, for the first time all day, and I'm glad of it."

"I'm not sure I'm glad, given I have to eat the results."

Vallye grinned. "Quiet, you. I know what I'm doing. It'll be fine."

Luckily for Vallye's ego (and both sibling's stomachs) it was. Dinner passed, however, with no sign of the Duchess. A fair amount about the siblings' attitude toward her can be illustrated by one small fact: neither of them pointed out her absence to the other until the meal was over. Later, Vallye would attribute this to years of dinner with only her brother for company. Skeed, who first broke the silence hanging over the table, would always freely admit that he would rather not have eaten with the Duchess anyway.

"...Where's Miss Muffet got to?" he asked, half of Vallye and half of Melodia's empty chair. "We did call her, didn't we?"

Vallye nodded slowly. "I did, yes... I'd almost forgotten about her until you said that. What ever can she be **up** to?"

Setting down his glass, Skeed rose from his chair with a grim expression. "I don't know," he said darkly, "but I intend to find out. Now."

A few purposeful strides took him to the kitchen door, but a turn and tug of the handle produced markedly less results. He frowned, trying again a few times, then declared: "...It's stuck."

Vallye looked up. "Sorry?"

"The door. It's stuck. I can't open it."

Frowning, she rose to examine the door. "It was fine this morning..."

"Mm, I thought so - closed it after breakfast, no trouble opening it when I came in..."

Slim fingers traced the metal at one side. "...Skeed, humour me? Pull it a bit towards the hinges this time."

So he did - a couple of firm tugs shifted the door from its resting place, and it swung open with a loud creak. "Good call. How did you - " And he followed her pointing finger. " - the hinge's warped."

"And the door, for that matter. Look."

It had once been a matter of some pride for the family that they could afford wooden doors for every room in the house. Skeed, peering intently at the top of the kitchen door, did not look in the least bit proud. "...And that's happened since this morning, you're telling me?" It wasn't so much asked of his sister as of the world. "Bizarre does not cover it. That's just out of order."

"...The carpet was sticking up when I came downstairs," Vallye recalled aloud, staring at nothing. "As if it'd been fitted badly or something."

Skeed shook his head. "That carpet hasn't been changed since we had it redone two years ago..."

Perhaps it struck them at the same moment. Either way, the siblings' exchange of glances was so perfectly synchronised that it might have been choreographed.

"Weird enough, d'you think?" Vallye asked, knowing it was all she had to say.

Predictably, Skeed nodded. "By a long shot."

As one, they hurried from the kitchen into the entrance hall. The portrait of their mother was askew - ordinarily Skeed would have paused to straighten it, but he headed straight for the living room. Vallye, realising that he probably had the right idea, followed.

Luckily for the living room door, it was wise enough not to stick. When it opened, however, the wall of hot air standing in the doorway was enough to make both siblings recoil a fraction. Skeed was the first to force his way in, squinting. "Faugh, it's a bloody **oven** in here - did you turn the fans off?"

But the cooling fans were still running. They picked up stray wisps of white hair from the little Duchess' head and tossed them around as she rose from the carpet. Vallye blinked. The grey dress seemed to have partially disintegrated, leaving Melodia in the skirt portion of it and a flimsy white undershirt. Her previously tidy hair had been thrown into a hasty ponytail, her fingertips were black and white with chalk and charcoal, her cheeks were slightly pink with the heat and her shoes were nowhere to be seen. There was a dark smudge to one side of her forehead. "I left them on," she said, glancing about the ceiling with a distinct air of paranoia. "If I had not, you would have burned your hand on the doorhandle. This house mislikes me."

Skeed raised an eyebrow. "Is that why we almost got shut into the kitchen?"

"More than likely. Leave the door ajar for now. Things will settle after the spell is complete."

"And is it going to do this **every** time you turn up the hocus-pocus?" Vallye asked sharply. "I can do without having my house in a constant state of unrest - there's more than enough of that **out**side the front door."

Drawing a handful of black dust from a leather pouch, Melodia began to spill it in a careful circle around the edge of the cloth she had spread out. "With luck, no," she murmured, concentrating. "Magic can be done without the proper invitations if necessary - the house adapts." Circle complete, she turned to Vallye with an expectant air. "What do you need?"

...er, what? "...Excuse me?"

The Duchess tried again. "The spell. What information do you require?"

"Ah. Mm - time, confirmation on the time. Skeed?"

Skeed nodded. "Definitely time. And any proof that the breaking of the mirror was connected with the murder - of course, if it wasn't it won't be much good to us in any case. ...What can you get?"

This was met with a moment's thought. "...hm. Glimpses, flashes of parts of the scene."

"The window," Skeed said firmly. "The Duke, the window. The door if it's in the shot - I don't know how these things work."

Melodia shook her head. "No idea until I try. Stay back, careful - touching the sigils or the circle may break the spell before I can gather anything useful." She glanced around again, still apparently on edge. "Oh, and for the time? An hourglass, do you have one? Or a pocket-watch, perhaps, that would suffice..."

"Will it be damaged?" Skeed asked at once, fingers already moving to his jacket pocket. When Melodia shook her head, he unclipped the sturdy gold chain from the cloth that held it fast and handed his pocket watch to the Duchess. She took it carefully, looked it over, flipped the cover open, nodded.

"Is this room going to cool down before you finish with the magic tricks?" Vallye put in, feeling increasingly superfluous. "I might as well be outside at high noon for all the good the fans are doing me."

Melodia, moving to the edge of the circle and setting the pocket watch in the centre of a nearby sigil, did not look up as she answered. "Be grateful," said she, "that you have not been working in this heat for half an hour. Yes, it will settle. When I cannot say for certain, though soon after the spell is complete would be my best estimate. Back from the circle, please."

Obediently the siblings moved away, Skeed taking up his usual position in an armchair to watch and Vallye standing awkwardly by the door. It was impossible, she felt, not to be irritated by the Duchess. The woman was making her feel out of place in her own **home**, for goodness sake, never mind the unpleasant side effects of the hocus pocus - if it weren't for this case being so thoroughly baffling, she wouldn't have resorted to involving Melodia Calbren.

A slow dimming of the light brought her back to the room, the stifling heat falling over her like a blanket. The little Duchess was kneeling beside the circle of black dust, making silent passes through the air - the same shape, over and over and over. Vallye watched her intently. The movements had no apparent effect. Still the circle was quiet, still the shard of the mirror rested, unmoving, in the centre. Huh. She might at least have put some twinkly bits about the place or something -

- and then the sigil fizzed and crackled as Melodia dragged it out of the ether, her finger trailing vivid red light. Much later, Vallye would realise what she had been doing: scratching away at the air until she broke through to the magic beyond the veil. When she pulled away, her white hand was stained purple-black with ichor.

"So," she said in a low voice, "you hear me at last. Now you shall do my bidding."

And the weight was lifted, and the house was as cool as the evening. Vallye saw Skeed start at the sudden chill, moved to kill the fans as every single light in the room flickered and died - could one little Melodia, she thought to herself, really be doing this? This wasn't magnus. She saw magnus every day. This was something Else, and somehow this little scrap of a foreigner was commanding it.

"Keep to your own side of the sand, outsiders," the Duchess murmured, and Vallye was about to put on her best annoyed tone and snap back when she realised that Melodia wasn't talking to her. "Step through into the circle and my words bind you. I am in no mood to be kind. That is your first and last warning."

Under any other circumstances, Skeed's expression might have made Vallye laugh. As it was she agreed with his unspoken sentiment: what was the little white lady warning away? Chances were they would regret asking.

"Threads of the world, heed my call and be guided by my voice."

The air seemed to be **tearing** now, ripping along every line of the sigil towards the centre of the circle. Ichor dripped from the wound as it grew. Unbidden, or silently bidden, the shard of the mirror rose to meet it.

"North and north-west, I summon thee...fire and light, I command thee...flame and illusion, I bring thee forth - give unto me thy truth!"

Two white hands, one stained black, were suddenly wreathed in an otherworldly red glow. Two eyes, closed until now in concentration, flicked open and shone.

"Come here," Melodia whispered.

And the magic came.

* * *

Reviews are loved - as before, if you're reading I want to know. You don't even have to be eloquent, just a "hi, I'm reading" is more than welcome. 


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